Stroke of Pain
by weapon13WhiteFang
Summary: A sort of sequel to "Stroke of Scents". Chance wasn't as alone as he thinks that night. It's amazing how easily one can hide a video camera if they try.


**Authoress Note: **I own nothing of Human Target or its characters. If I did the show would still be back, dammit! I would have also had more Guerreroness and more fun cases that didn't all end in "OMG DRAMA!"... But hey, the shows already cancelled so ranting wont do me any good. Sigh. I love still having fanfiction to play with!

**Extra Note: **Warning! The awesome G-Man just might come off as a bit out of character here. Also, if you are uncomfortable with self-pleasure and self-pain for pleasure, then I suggest you leave now. You have been warned :3

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><p>He watches him. He always has. Ever since he took him under his wing and he became his friend, his partner, he's been watching him.<p>

He doesn't tell him about the cameras. He doesn't have many in the house. He trusts him, he does. But he keeps an eye on him because he wants to. He needs to, actually. He needs to know he's always safe. Always OK. That he's not gonna try to run off and leave again.

He always watches him. He watches as he finishes up. He can hear every pant, every breath, he makes as he sits up and rubs at his face before he quietly strips the now sticky and dirty sheets off the guest bed, the bed he had been the last to sleep in, and watches him disappear off the screen. He doesn't flick the camera to try and find him. He sits at the desk in his warehouse, in his office, and slowly rewinds the footage that he had recorded, and watches again.

Alone, in the dark, his breath is slowly coming out in an uneven hiss. He's got one fist on the table, clutching at a glass of water he had gotten before sitting down. The other is gripping at his own shaft. His head rolls back as he grunts and makes inaudible moaning sounds, forcing out tiny mumbled curse words under his breath for what he was doing. He shouldn't be watching this again. Shouldn't be watching his friend. He trusted him. This was fucking wrong... Even if it felt so good and right.

He gripped the glass tighter, not stopping or looking away from the screen, from him, as he felt the glass crack in his grip, the edges jutting out just enough to dig into his hand painfully. His eyes squint closed as his vision blurs for a second, before he's forcing himself to focus on the screen once again. With each stroke on the screen he's matching with his own, his eyes drinking him, colors swimming in his sight as he drinks in every stroke and every little sound.

So concerned with concentrating on him, he didn't realize that he;d gripped the glass harder. Not until the sound shattering glass and a sudden dull and painful throb in his hand, pulls him out of his almost drunk like state. He glances down at his hand and then pieces of glass shattered on the desk before he opened it. Glass fell from his hand and his palm pulsed and twitched.

He shook his hand numbly, his other hand slowing down as he stared at the screen and then at his hand, and then down to his hardened shaft still gripped less tightly in his hand. He stared at his now bleeding palm, flexing his hand more, before he, without much thought, began to switch his hands. With his bloodied and cut hand, he continued stroking himself, his hips jerking as a strangled and pleased groan erupted from his lips.

The sensation was so new. It was new and it felt so good. So unbearably good! He shuddered as he rewind the video and continued to pump his hand, the blood providing a little bit of lubricant to his hard shaft. The cut and peeling skin from the cut was tickling and teasing the sensitive and hard skin of his shaft.

His lips parted and he arched his hips openly into his feverish and teasing pumps. His head tilted back more as his eyes became half-lidded, his body enjoying the new and enjoyable sensation he'd created. He rocked his hips into his hand. He was squeezing and stroking like he really needed this. He grunted as he teased himself, grazing the sensitive and weeping tip of his length, swirling his precum with his blood as he let out a whine.

He rewinded the tape again, watching _his friend_'s hand and hips grind together wantonly on the bed. He bit down, hard, on his quivering lips, tugging the wet and puffing skin with his front teeth to bite down his louder groans. He began biting so hard that blood trickled into his mouth, startling him a little, but not detering him from his fever.. "O-oh fu-fuck!" he gasped, bringing his hand up to spit saliva and blood on his hand before bringing it back to his shaft and stroking with more need, his saliva and cum and blood mixing and providing a slick and wet and intoxicating sensation.

He growled as he stopped the video in the middle of _his _friends needy and eager strokes. He fast forwarded a little, his hand not stopping a bit, as he finally stopped at where he wanted to be. Dear fucking God he was so... Sooo close. His hips and hand grinding into each other feverishly and painfully as pain and pleasure shot up his spine. As _his _jerks became feverish and needy, Guerrero's hand sped up as well.

He squeezed at the the base now, continuing to tease and stroke at his tip. He groaned and his back began to hunch. Fuck! He-he didn't know how much more he could take. It was sooo good... B-But he couldn't just yet. He had to wait it out. He wanted to cum with _him_. Oh, shit but was it hard. He stared at the screen as he jerked his body forward, leaning onto his desk, his chin pressed into the cold wood, one eye able to watch the screen as his free hand, now halfway fisted, clawed at the smooth surface.

His chair groaned as he pushed back on it with his ass and back, causing it to roughly slide back, his legs staring to tense up from the weird angle. His whole body was quivering with the oncoming orgasm that he could no longer hold back! Guerrero's breath came out in shallow and hungry pants and gulps for air.

On the screen, in the video he had watched over and over now, he could tell _he _was getting close. Guerrero began to let himself get taken over by the growing sensation, his hand now moving freely and roughly along his length. He squeezed as hard as he could, before he gasped and released his grip to continue stroking

His glasses were askew as he panted open mouth like a dog, his tongue probably hanging out. Oh fucking God please. On the camera in the video he could hear _him _coming to the edge and he pushed himself with him, his pre-cum dripping out and mixing with the blood on his hand and the stinging and raw feeling cut from the class, and it stung.. But... But it... Oh fuck!

His head slammed on the table, his nails bending back as he dug them into the fine wood of his desk, as his body jerked rough enough to shake the table! His body tensed and his vision whitened briefly... Before everything in his body relaxed as he gurgled and spilled out into his hand, some shooting out onto the side of his desk and on the floor.

His can continued to stroke himself until he was dry, before he yanked his hand free. The screen had become blank as he pressed his forehead onto the desks edge, staring down at the mess he'd made and his stinging hand, which was now covered in cum, blood, and spit.

He let out a disgusted, but slightly satisfied grunt as he reached up with his cleaner hand and pushed his glasses back into place and mused down his now damp hair. He stared at the static of the video as he pushed himself back into a sitting position.

He sat for a long time before he got up and walked to the closet door of his halway to grab a towel and throw it in the bathroom, turning on the shower head and sticking his hand in the water as he unbuttoned and freed his arms and body from his restricting clothes, sliding into the shower to stare up at the faucet and wash himself, the image of Chance masturbating and groaning his name still fresh in his mind.

**R & R Plz**


End file.
